Monster
by ElocinMuse
Summary: There was something dark inside of him, there always had been. Grace bifurcated by light and dark in equal measure, it was rare for him to give in to the blackest part of his makeup. Today, he would make an exception. Today he would finally taste that darkness; embrace it in welcome surrender. They bred him for destruction, after all. If they wanted the beast, they would have him.


**Author's Note:** A little pre-finale drabble that turned into a oneshot because I like word vomit.

Pre-finale ficlet for 8x23. Megstiel undertone, though it can be viewed as either platonic or romantic.

* * *

"Sorry to break up the party."

With a flick of her wrist, the Knight of Hell sent Sam hurling through the nearest window. The sound of shattering glass filled the room, erasing the barrier between the ritual underway and the gathering storm outside.

Abaddon edged up to the chair that was bolted to the floor in the center of the building, bending her head to the figure chained there. Scarlet lips spread in a deceptively pleasant smile.

"You and I are gonna talk about a regime change."

Before Crowley could even respond, there was the sudden smell of ozone burning his nostrils. Abaddon was seized from behind and cast down hard at the wooden floor, so forcibly that the boards splintered. Her shriek of fury was drowned out by the furling of wings and crack of thunder that heralded the arrival of another.

The demon twisted to face her attacker, teeth gnashing in a snarl of white, her eyes flicking black. A wall of dark power slammed out of her in retaliation, but collided with an immovable tower of grace. She was back on her feet in the time it took for lightning to light up the sky, lashing out with claws and brute strength.

The angel caught one fist in a bone crushing intercept, his other hand slamming up over her face in unforgiving dispassion. Abaddon screamed and struggled against the influx of holy fire he poured into her. Light exploded from her eyes and mouth, though it took longer for her to die. With each second passed, the fight in her weakened to the point of inevitability, and, with a final shove, Castiel brought the demon down hard on the staggered flooring.

But the Knight of Hell was little more than an afterthought. Not even bothering to give the smote abomination a second look, the angel rose back to his feet without a word. Even still, there was a line of tension running down his back that lent him an automaton sort of intensity. For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of rain beating against the glass panes.

Crowley tensed in his bonds, still wearing his patent smirk like a mask. "Bad day, Sparkles?"

Castiel turned from the dead Knight to look on the King of Hell, saying nothing. His dark hair was matted from the rain and obvious combat, blood spattered in a gruesome pattern over his clothes. The trenchcoat hung off his bowed shoulders like a shroud, blood-soaked and torn.

Crowley tipped his chin, considering the image before him and cocking an eyebrow. "I smell that redhead's grace on your blade, angel. Killing family members again, are we?"

That glacier cold stare seemed to say, _Yes, and?_ Twenty-six angels under Naomi's control, seven that needed no such third party persuasion to stand in his way. Every angel he came across in the last hour he'd torn apart. He hadn't even hesitated.

Something dark inside him twisted.

_Enough_, that same voice had screamed inside his head during the final confrontation with his elder sister and siblings. The only peace he'd felt then was the way his blade had ripped through their vessels. Because he was nobody's puppet; _never again_.

The most recent events, the revelation that weighed so heavily now on his mind, had only cast him further over the edge he so often toed. So much so that he was now seeing everything through a red film of anger.

Crowley again tested his bonds, to no avail. He hazarded, "Gonna fetch the moose, or stare daggers at me for the rest of the night?"

"I will heal Sam when we're through here."

There was an ominous sort of finality to the words that made Crowley involuntarily squirm.

Castiel's voice was lower somehow, coarser even than usual. He advanced on the demon slowly. "After dispatching my brethren tonight, I was feeling confined. I sought solace, in the face of my actions." The angel's visage was cut into hard lines and harsh shadows under the light of the moon, its muted rays filtering in through the stained glass. His eyes were dark hollows, the blue of them flat as a blade. "So, I went looking for a friend."

Crowley couldn't help but blanch. Expression tight, Castiel's voice shook with a suppressed emotion.

"But I couldn't find her."

The King's mouth dipped down into a self-deprecating sort of smile, one that bore no real confidence at all. Something cold and unsettling crept down his spine, causing him to shrink back instinctively at the utter _menace_ rolling off the creature in front of him.

"Did you kill Meg, Crowley?"

It was a question that needed no answer. The air itself seemed to solidify around them.

"_Did you. Kill. My friend_?"

The words came out as a growl, as a physical threat that promised an eon of retribution.

"Sam and Dean never told me. Because they thought I'd come looking for you, I suppose."

The room around them trembled, the single light above their heads flickering as it swayed between angel and demon. The angel carried now an unprecedented and out of place pretense of calm, one that belied the severity of the exchange.

Crowley chuffed out a laugh. "All this posturing for one little whore? If you intend to kill me, wouldn't that bring the Winchesters' entire plan crumbling down around their ears? Would you really do that to them? Over a _girl_, Castiel, of all things? I'm sorry, but that is hilarious, if not utterly pathetic." The King flashed him a truly devil-may-care smile, one that sliced through the darkness like a knife. "Yes, I killed your little Delilah. Should've learned by now not to form such attachments. People tend to drop like flies around you, Castiel. I'm curious, how many _friends_ did you slaughter when you made yourself into a god? Hundreds? Thousands?

"So go right ahead. Put my bloody lights out. See how many friends you have left after _this_ betrayal, you insignificant speck. Because in case you forgot, those pets of yours need to cure a demon for the final trial."

It wasn't the first time he'd considered it. That if anything good could have come of having those murderous leviathans writhing inside of him… it would have been knowing the feel of Crowley's black soul snuffing out beneath his hands. It was, to this day, an overwhelming temptation.

"No."

The fierce, dark penetrative quality of his presence now was stifling; and his voice—icy and guttural, like a glacier grinding over rocks—cut into the King like a bite from the demon killing knife. Crowley startled at the reply.

"No?" he parroted.

There was a roll of thunder beyond the broken window, the spill of rain seeping in. With each far off strike of lightning, the angel's face became a more terrifying portrait.

"Oh, I am going to let them cure you, Crowley."

With each slow step, another tremor shook the building. The steel supports groaned at the lick of power in the room. At the utter wrath that sought to escape the dam. How easily they forgot what he was—a hurricane, tethered to human form. How easily they forgot that power could be unleashed.

"And then, when you're finally human?"

The storm around them wailed dangerously.

"When you can feel pain…"

"…and fear…"

His voice caught over the word, emotion gripping him.

"…and _heartache_…"

It was no secret there was something dark inside of him. Some seed of terrible violence that required no amount of foreign beasts twisting inside of him to bring out. There was a reason Lucifer sought his allegiance, after all. The Devil may have despised humanity, one trait they didn't share, but the kindred brutality in their blood was what he'd recognized that day, amid the flames.

"…then, you're _mine_."

Grace bifurcated by light and dark in equal measure, it was rare for him to give in to the blackest part of his makeup. Today, he would make the exception. Today, he would finally taste that darkness; embrace it in welcome surrender. They bred him for destruction, after all. If they wanted the beast, they would have him.

He was done playing the good soldier.

It was time to rain down a little fire.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Le reviews. I stick mah straw in dem... and I suck dem up. ;)


End file.
